Without hesitation, though terribly frightened, the lads obeyed. From their place of concealment they had seen everything that had occurred, and even now were in doubt as to the intentions of their companion's supposed captors.
"We're in a mess, lads," remarked Mr. Reeves calmly, as the two boys, with their faces, hands, and clothing torn by the sharp spikes of the mimosa, came up to where he was standing. "We are practically prisoners of war. Goodness only knows what's happened to the Italian troops. They are still firing, I hear, but the sound seems to be dying away."
"Where are we being taken to?"
"To the oasis. The remnants of the Turkish garrison are there. I don't think we are in danger, although the situation is extremely awkward."
Escorted by the Ottoman soldiers, Mr. Reeves and his companions trudged across the hot sand, the lads shudderingly averting their faces as they passed the numerous motionless bodies of the slaughtered Italian soldiers. They were beginning to learn something of the dark side of war.
And now from the direction of the town the sound of firing began to increase. The Italian infantry were moving to the support of their comrades on the fringe of the desert; sullenly the Arabs gave way before them, and began to stream back upon the oasis.
Unfortunately for the three English prisoners there was no sign of Skilanda Bey and the remainder of the Turkish regiments. They had taken up a position fully two miles away, and were pushing home a counter-attack upon an Italian redoubt. This the Turkish officer learnt from a wounded compatriot.
"My place is with my regiment, Effendi," said he to the correspondent; "so I must leave you. But these three soldiers will stand by you. There is nothing to fear."
The next instant the kindly Ottoman was gone, and Arthur Reeves, not without misgivings, found himself and his charges in the midst of a horde of Arabs, with only the possibility of three Turkish privates saving them from indignity, perhaps death. Nevertheless, with the object of his life's work before him, the correspondent kept his glasses bearing upon the distant battlefield, keenly intent upon striking and unique copy for the London Intelligence.
Suddenly a shell, fired at a high angle from one of the battleships, burst fairly in the midst of a group of retreating Arabs, barely two hundred yards from the edge of a cluster of palm trees. The men broke into a run, leaving what looked like a smudge of dirty white garments on the dazzling sand.